


The End

by curlyfriesandfrosties



Series: Bittersweet Endings, Strange New Beginnings [1]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Spoilers for Book 7: Kingdom of Ash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28843206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curlyfriesandfrosties/pseuds/curlyfriesandfrosties
Summary: "Immortality is associated with long life. Life. But only those who live a thousand years or more know that along with life they’ll experience death. As many births as you might witness, you’ll see just as many people pass. And nothing can prepare you for the tragedy of watching your loved ones die – of watching friends grow gray and fade away – while you stay young forever."Inspired by The Good Place, this is an exploration of immortality for Aelin, Rowan, their friends, and their children. Its not a happy ending, but it is not tragic: rather bittersweet.
Relationships: Aedion Ashryver/Lysandra, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius | Celaena Sardothien/Rowan Whitethorn, Chaol Westfall/Yrene, Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre, Manon Blackbeak/Dorian Havilliard, Nesryn Faliq/Sartaq
Series: Bittersweet Endings, Strange New Beginnings [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114961
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. Empty Chairs

Immortality is associated with long life. _Life_. But only those who live a thousand years or more know that along with life they’ll experience death. As many births as you might witness, you’ll see just as many people pass. And nothing can prepare you for the tragedy of watching your loved ones die – of watching friends grow gray and fade away – while you stay young forever.

Within two decades of her reign, Aelin begins to notice the costs of Mala’s gift: she lives, but, while all her friends grow into age and have children, she remains young, with only Rowan and Fenrys at her side.

Another ten years pass before she is blessed with a child. Her daughter, Marion, is named for Elide’s mother, just as Elide named her firstborn daughter for Aelin’s.

It is another ten years after that that the twins – Aemma and Emrys – come along. Visiting nobles often question why Aelin’s firstborn son is named after the palace cook. They often find that their silverware is burning hot or that their rooms are strangely drafty after such comments.

By the time the twins reach their second birthday, Aelin’s nieces and nephews are nearly grown. Aedion has a bad back. Dorian’s midnight hair has gone gray. Lysandra’s eyes are marked with crow’s feet and smile lines. Even Lorcan begins to show signs of age, having given up immortality for his wife.

Luckily, the rest of her children are born in quick succession, early enough to know their ‘uncles’ and ‘aunts’ and godparents. But her youngest, little Nehemia, is only seven years old when Aedion passes away suddenly in the night. It is a blow from which Aelin thinks she’ll never recover. None of her losses are ever any easier, even knowing that they’ll come.

Dorian, having never married, leaves his kingdom to his brother to Hollin’s eldest son Tirion. Dorian and Manon’s twin girls, Astoria and Cyrene, are technically bastards, and they are content to rule the Witch Kingdom anyways.

Nesryn, despite being Empress of the Southern Continent, passes in Rifthold, and a funeral is hosted there with all the glory that befits a hero of their country. Sartaq fallows soon after, and, with the easy succession from father to daughter, the bloody traditions of the khaganate end for good.

Galen, Borte, Arghun, Duva, Kashin, Hollin, other rulers, husbands, wives, and friends – all of these funerals are stately occasions. They fall in such quick succession that she and Rowan are travelling for seven months solid.

When Elide passes, only Manon and Lorcan are at her bedside – her illness so swift and brutal that nothing can be done to repair the damage the wasting disease does to her body. Even Yrene is helpless. Aelin and Rowan do not see Lorcan for five years, and, when he returns, he looks his age: a thousand years old or more. He is buried next to Elide atop a hill outside of Orynth where the wind blows strongly towards the Witch Kingdom in the west.

Lysandra, much like the cats she so favors, seeks solitude when she falls ill. Aelin will have none of it. She’s holding Lysandra’s hand, Evangeline clutching the other, when Lysandra, bedridden, begins to cough blood. It doesn’t stop. Her last words are amusing and heartbreaking all at once: “I promise,” she says, “I’ll kick Aedion’s ass for leaving us.”

Aelin feels dehydrated, drained beyond measure, by the time the tears stop. In the following years, she finds that she can’t stand the sign of cats. The castle mouse-catchers are tabbys and calicos, not snow leopards, but she finds herself in tears nonetheless. So, they bring up one of the hounds – golden brown like her great-great-grand-dame – to sleep in the royal suite and keep the cats away.

Ansel is succeeded by her daughter, Thalia. Aelin and Rowan travel to the Wastes for the first time, to ensure peace between Briarcliff and the Witch Kingdom, but their presence is unnecessary; Manon and Ansel had grown to be great friends. The Witch Queen digs the grave of the Queen of Briarcliff herself, all while the crown of stars atop her head illuminates a silent night and a walled in garden.

Evangeline’s funeral is a quiet affair, attended only by her husband, children, grandchildren, Queen, and consort. No other Terassen nobility.

There’s a duplicate of the portrait from Evangeline’s wedding day that hangs in the hall off the royal quarters. In it, she turns her face slightly away from the painter, purposefully revealing her scars. Her joy is so tangible that it is easily deemed the most gorgeous painting in the palace.

When Yrene is 95 and Chaol 97, they decide to move to Orynth at last. Because Aelin’s daughter Aemma, blessed with her grandmother’s power over water, wants to be a healer, they have been begging the Healer on High to join them for years. Yrene passes on her title.

Yrene and Chaol’s daughters, already married with children of their own, remain in Anielle. Their son, Hafizar, remains in Rifthold to watch over the Northern Torre. It seems to Aelin that only a blink of an eye has passed since she received the news of his birth – and read of his parents surprise to welcome a boy instead of a girl. (As far as the stubborn woman will admit, Yrene had only ever made one mistake as a healer and it was predicting the sex of her last child. She and Chaol had already chosen to name the baby after Hafiza, and, well, adjustments had to be made.)

Yrene is 105 when, sitting at the fireside in her apartments of the ivory palace, she announces that she is dying. No healer will be able to stop the spread of the growth within her brain and she has grown weary of keeping it at bay for herself. She says this in such a matter-of-fact manner that Aelin finds herself too stunned for tears.

So Yrene and Chaol send for their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The sickchamber is not big enough to fit all of them, so Rowan is perched on the windowsill as a hawk when Yrene calls for them to say farewell. Both she and Chaol are white-haired, glassy-eyed, unable to walk. But neither voice shakes as they say their goodbyes. Their descendants file out, family by family, clutching handkerchiefs and snotty sleeves. Only their eldest daughter, Celeana, lingers. Aelin does not leave, but stays holding Chaol’s hand until Yrene draws her last breath. For an instant, Chaol’s eyes are full of pain, but he’s gone before he can truly feel the loss of his wife.

* * *

For two hundred years after, Aelin and Rowan attend every wedding, every funeral, and every christening for the children and grandchildren and greatgrandchildren of their friends. They seem to fall one after the other, even as the years seem to creep by.

When she turns 257, Aelin demands that the court of Terrasen stop celebrating her birthday. Small parties will suffice for the future. She and Rowan also agree only to travel for occasions related to immediate family.

She and Rowan watch their children grow. Aelin learns the trials of having young males. Of youthful heartbreak. Of children and teens who can breathe fire. The greenhouse is rebuilt of iron and glass, after it burns down twice.

And yet, for all her joy, their dinner table remains several seats too empty.


	2. Passing By

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For 583 years of her reign, there is peace in Erilea. True peace in which they can rebuild, and broken kingdoms can grow strong again. When Aelin turns 584, however, that fragile peace is shattered._
> 
> Time passes. Queen Aelin Ashryver-Whitethorn-Galathynius rules for 678 years and her children grow into adulthood.

When Aelin is 296, her eldest daughter gets married, not to her mate, but to a young noble from Ellewye – some distant relation of Nehemia. Aelin sees her old friend in his eyes, and can’t help but accept him. Rowan, despite what one might think, is not overly protective of his little girl. He only threatens the young man once.

Within the next sixty years, all of Aelin’s children have been married. Two have found their mates: Aemma married a female from the mountains around Doranelle, moving to work with the healers there. She and her wife attend dinners with her ‘Aunt Leeny’ – Queen Selene – at least once a month.

Aelin’s second son, Daran, married a female from some far-off kingdom – the name of which Aelin can never pronounce. He too moves away. The table grows emptier.

Emrys gets engaged to a demi-Fae woman from Perranth on Yulemas: it’s terribly romantic and Aelin cries more than a few happy tears.

Nehemia falls in love with a Fae male from Akkadia, a Kingdom south of Doranelle. They move to Melisande, where Nehemia is Terrasen’s ambassador. They wait for the mating bond to snap into place, but it never does. Rowan assuages their daughter’s fear – and Aelin’s too: "Only one in a thousand Fae find their mate. Only one marriage in one-hundred-thousand is torn asunder when one finds their mate is not their spouse. Trust your heart."

They are never anything less than joyful together.

* * *

At Aelin’s 310th birthday party, a quiet affair, Marian announces that she’s expecting. From then on, Aelin’s table is always full, even if her family has been scattered to the winds. Marion, Emrys, and their families remain in Terrasen.

In total, Aelin and Rowan have ten grandchildren, 23 great-grandchildren. Fae and demi-fae, non-magic wielders, and truly amazing magical talents. They are all different, but each and every one of their descendants have stunning eyes: pine green, turquoise, blue, or such shades ringed with gold.

All of Aelin’s children possess the long life-span of the Fae. Only Marian found love among humans, and so, when Aelin is 367 tragedy visits their home: Marian looses her husband of seventy-one years. In time, her heart heals, and the Princess marries again, this time to the son of a Cochran witch. Even knowing Manon for over 470 years cannot discourage all of Aelin’s unease, but she finds that he does not have iron teeth or nails. There is no wickedness behind his cunning eyes. But he does possess the same longevity as Marion, so as to be her companion for life.

* * *

For 583 years of her reign, there is peace in Erilea. True peace in which they can rebuild, and broken kingdoms can grow strong again. When Aelin turns 584, however, that fragile peace is shattered. There is no war. No conflict between nations. Instead, destruction comes in the form of an unknown Fae male. He is uniquely powerful, possessing the ability to break into the minds of others, warp them, manipulate them, and kill them. For three months, this male terrorizes towns along the Avery, leaving behind a wake of disappearances and sudden, unexplainable deaths. He arrives in Rifthold before Ardarlan can call for aid. There, his pattern becomes clear. This magical purist kills 55 demi-Fae in the span of two weeks. When Ardarlan sends for aid, Aelin joins her Fae warriors. Only Fenrys and Rowan are bloodsworn to her any longer, but there are many strong Fae willing to join the elite force of Terrasen’s army led by the Queen’s consort and her most trusted general.

In the end, six of her soldiers are killed bringing down the genocidal manic haunting Rifthold. They are all honored by Ardarlan. Gifts are sent to Terrasen. But none of it, no amount of trade or gold or jewels or grain, can fill the hole left behind by this conflict: Fenrys ultimately brings the male down and pays the ultimate price in doing so. This is the end of Aelin’s inner circle.

Once upon a time, Aelin would gather with her friends – her fierce warriors – and laugh and play cards in the parlor and try to drink each other under the table. Sometimes, when he was really drunk, Fenrys would start a song. Lysandra always joined in next – her voice was terrible. Then Elide and Aelin and Rowan – whose voices were all passable – then Aedion who was blessed with a wonderful voice. Then, finally, after much begging and pleading from his wife, Lorcan would join in too. And once, Aelin even fell out of her chair laughing, listening to Lorcan of all people sing the dirty ballad Fenrys had selected.

When Aelin turns 585, all of the chairs in the parlor are empty. They close up the room. In time, Marion has it remodeled to be a playroom for the children.

* * *

When Aelin is 700, Terrasen has a grand celebration as they welcome the crowning of one monarch, and the abdication of another. Marion is resplendent in a gown of sapphire blue, her husband by her side. Aelin feels that she looks a little matronly, despite Rowan’s protestations. Her hair is steadily losing its rich gold hue, shot through with the occasional streak of silver. Her complexion no longer favors gold or white, so she wears a deep maroon. She can’t help but think of Dorian and Ardarlan, looking at the color. And, sitting at the state dinner, not a single noble face is familiar. Yes, the King of Ardarlan has raven-dark hair. And the Duchess of Perranth has Lorcan’s sharp nose. But it has been an age since she gathered with friends and Aelin finally feels old.

In her age of retirement, Aelin decides that she has remained stationary for far too long. She and Rowan travel. They see fortresses, mountains, desserts, jungles, cities, and ruins older than anything else in Erilea. Older than Meave and the Valg and the gods. This brings her a great deal of satisfaction, knowing that the gods of her early life did not, in fact, create this world. That there are places the ‘gods’ and the Valg did not touch.

Knowing fuels a desire for learning. So she and Rowan spend weeks and months and years in libraries around the world. Eventually they find themselves in Banjali.

In 775 years, Aelin had never found the courage to visit Nehemia’s home city. It is as beautiful as she described. The palace still smells of lotus blossoms. The royal family requests that they stay in that sandstone castle on the river, and gives them access to their private libraries. Here, after hundreds of years, Aelin finally learns the whole language of the Wyrd marks. She reads accounts of the world walkers, one written but such a creature itself. One evening, reading beside a gurgling fountain, Aelin remembers her fall and all the worlds she saw and an extraordinary idea forms. She and Rowan make the decision together.

* * *

Aelin and Rowan return home. They bring copies of the books, teach the marks to Emrys and Marion, and swear them to secrecy. They instruct their children that the magic of the Wyrd is to be used only in times of great danger – world altering danger. Like the return of the Valg. Or worse, the gods. Such thoughts still wake Aelin in the night.

There are Wyrd marks etched into the walls of Orynth, to provide protection and a magical barrier against such dark forces. They have been there since the rebuilding after Erawen’s defeat. Only the royal families of Terrasen and Ellewye can read the marks. The Healer on High at the Northern Torre is also endowed with such knowledge, but never the complete works. Indeed, only Aelin and Rowan speak the full language of the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for the kudos and the comments. I finished my most recent readthrough of the series and I think it finally gave me the gumption to finish this fic. I don't know if I'll actually make it a series like I planned.


	3. Passing On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the pre-dawn light, Aelin buckles on her old knives, ancient sword, new leather belts, and a comfortable traveling cloak in Terrasen green. She and Rowan silently move through the castle, making their way down, down, down to a chamber underneath the library, deep within the earth. It is etched in hundreds of Wyrd marks. And it has all the makings of a tomb._
> 
> Aelin turns 800 years old and moves on from Erilea. Rowan is by her side.

On Aelin’s 800th birthday, she wakes early and walks out onto her balcony, gazing out at the field of kingsflame with strange concentration. She takes it in for many moments, before beginning the long trek down to the dining hall. The palace is alight with children’s laughter. The long breakfast table – the royal breakfast table – is full of people with green eyes and blue eyes, gold and silver haired. Her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren and even great-great-great-grandchildren are here to celebrate her birthday. There are so many people crowded into the hall that all conversation is unintelligible. Aelin can’t even hear Rowan speaking when he sits beside her at the head of the table.

At ten in the morning, they take a ride through the forest; though her large caravan of family makes the pace incredibly slow. They picnic for lunch and Aelin shows the youngest children the proper way to greet and speak with the Little Folk. They return to the palace by sundown.

At half-past six, the ball begins. They serve her favorite chocolate cake and Aelin revels in the sensation of love and the sounds of laughter and music. The youngest of her clan is two. Her name is Catalina and she clings to her great-great-great-grandmother’s hip the entire night. Her ears are not pointed, but little sparks fly from her fingers when she points and giggles.

At ten o’clock, they begin their goodbyes. Few know this will be their last. By eleven, she and Rowan are ensconced in their chambers, asleep. Only a few hours pass before they must rise.

* * *

In the pre-dawn light, Aelin buckles on her old knives, ancient sword, new leather belts, and a comfortable traveling cloak in Terrasen green. She and Rowan silently move through the castle, making their way down, down, down to a chamber underneath the library, deep within the earth. It is etched in hundreds of Wyrd marks. And it has all the makings of a tomb.

It unnerves Aelin to see her own face, wrought in stone. Rowan manages a joke about his sarcophagus. Aelin finds the inscription at her feet “Ah, time’s rift!” A rather clever callback in her opinion. 

In the tomb, Marion waits. She wears comfortable sleeping clothes, clearly planning to return to bed after saying goodbye. The Queen of Terrasen has hair like a bird’s nest and her eyes are full of tears.

Aelin reaches out first and hugs her eldest daughter. Rowan does the same and they hold each other for long minutes before Aelin pulls away. Marion does not let go of her mother’s hands, asking, voice thick, “Do you have to go?”

Aelin looks her in the eye, squeezing her hands tightly. “The thing about immortality, Love … well, you have to get used to saying goodbye. You’ll say farewell as often as you say hello.”

Their daughter looks pained. And her voice is almost childlike as she says, “But this isn’t goodbye, is it?”

Aelin looks to Rowan. _You take this one._

“It might be. It might not be. There are entire worlds out there.”

Aelin tucks Marion’s hair behind her pointed ear, kisses her on the forehead like she did when Marion was small. “You’re here. You’ll always be here. And we know the way back,” she says, gesturing to the marks on the floor, on her arms.

“Unfortunately, we’ve got unfinished business with some demons,” Aelin continues. “Who knows how we might be able to help others with what we know. And, knowing the Valg, we need to complete about two-thousand years of multi-universe clean-up.”

Marian glares at her, every inch a queen. “Don’t play the hero card with me mother.” Rowan laughs.

Aelin sighs, finding that she can’t help but let the real reasons out. She never could lie to Marion. “Love, I’m tired of looking at empty chairs, wishing they were full. I’m tired of looking at this castle and feeling someone is missing. I’m tired of feeling like there’s nothing left to do.”

She takes her daughter’s hand again, “Can you blame your old mother for wanting a change of scenery?”

“You’re hoping you’ll find some other, cranky immortals just like you.” Marion laughs, even as another tear falls upon her cheek.

Aelin smiles too. “Perhaps I am. Can you blame me? Senior citizens need company too.”

Finally, Marion steps away. Straightens her back. Squares her shoulders. “Alright. Be safe. I love you both.”

They murmur the same in return. Rowan pulls a knife – a small, silver stiletto. A thin slice on each of their arms creates enough blood for Aelin to draw the mark.

* * *

The portal glows, as green and eerie as such things were eight hundred years ago. And through it, Aelin smells the familiar scent of that nearby world.

Her last glimpse of her own world is one of her daughter, eyes wide with fear and amazement, gazing at the glowing passage.

Aelin takes Rowan’s hand and they step through. She takes in the smell of snow, pines, and open air. They’re standing on that barren mountain where she saw those Fae. The portal fades and they are enveloped in that snow-blasted wilderness. Aelin smiles a little. She has had many titles: assassin, champion, princess, Heir-of-Fire, promised-one, Faerie Queen of the West, demon-killer, Queen Mother. _Now world-walker_. It suits her better than any crown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if I had to give one justification for why Aelin is my favorite of Maas' protagonists, its probably her curiosity. Her desire for adventure. Her sense of exploration is something I don't think she would loose, even with 1000 years of time to rest and relax. When I thought of her end, just sitting on her throne, reigning until she died doesn't make sense. I am reminded of this quote from the books: 
> 
> “And even if it was just for an hour, she couldn’t help but savor the feeling of anonymity. Of blending in with the carnival workers. These people who had the dust of a hundred kingdoms on their clothes. To have that sort of freedom, to see the world bit by bit, to travel each and every rode … her chest tightened.” 
> 
> And so I couldn't think of a more appropriate way for her life to end than with another grand adventure. A chance at anonymity and freedom, even while she maintains her responsibility to the world. This is my love note to Aelin, to give her a happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> So a few brief notes: 
> 
> I ship Dorian with Manon but I couldn’t figure out a way that the lineage of Adarlan would continue through the witches. And Hollin is right there. As for Hollin being difficult or possibly evil … he was ten in the first book. I firmly believe that his experiences when his father died would have fundamentally changed him (I might even write a fic about it). 
> 
> I don’t love the idea of characters naming their children after dead friends or relatives (because of the dumspter-fire that is the name "Albus Severus") so not all of the children’s names are callbacks. 
> 
> Please no crazy criticism on the chosen ships. With this fandom, I don't participate in ship wars. On the other hand, please let me know if there's a spelling or punctuation error. 
> 
> This is the order of Aelin’s children, though I did change some things from Rowan's dream from Kingdom of Ash (quotes included in parentheses).  
> -Marion (“…a girl with golden hair and pine green eyes…”)  
> -Emrys (“…a boy beside [the girl] nearly her height … his Ashryver eyes near glowing beneath his cap of silver hair…”)  
> -Aemma (Twin to Emrys because I love things about twins) (“…the boy next to [Emrys] silver-haired and green eyed …”)  
> -Daran (“And the smallest girl, clinging to her mother’s legs … a fine-boned, silver-haired child little more than a babe, her blue eyes harking back to a lineage [Rowan] did not know.”)  
> -Nehemia (“…with another mere weeks away from being born…”


End file.
